Fighting Chaos
by FraidyCat
Summary: Hey. In my last story, I didn't whump anybody. I promise you, that will not happen again.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Fighting Chaos**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. They do occasionally visit from time to time.**

**A/N: Oh, dudes. I'm feeling a multi-chapter whump coming on.**

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**Chapter 1**

Don stood silently beside his brother at the graveside.

He had never met Dr. Henderson, but there was no way he was letting Charlie go through this alone. Larry would have found a way to get him here, but it would have been difficult. Peter Henderson and Larry had taught together for years, at a couple of different locations in fact – and Larry was quite close to the physicist and his wife. He sat amongst the family now, out-of-town children welcoming his familiarity as one of the tiny comforts they and their mother had known over the last few days.

Now, half an hour after they had arrived, Don and Charlie stood near the edges of the crowd. Don had noticed Charlie's almost imperceptible movements backwards, the way he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure there was a clear path to the SUV – but Don hadn't said anything about it.

He looked through his sunglasses at his brother, who was also, uncharacteristically, wearing sunglasses. The bruising on the left side of his face was all you could see of the rather impressive purple eye under those glasses. His left arm was tied to his chest by a discreet black sling, the result of his shoulder being pulled from its socket during the accident. Relocated now, it was still quite painful and severely limited his movements.

Not that he had been moving much, in the four days since it had happened. Or talking that much, either.

Don was very glad that their father would probably be home by the time they got back there. Megan had volunteered to take the morning off and meet him at the port of Long Beach. Alan had been on an Alaskan cruise with his brother, Morty – a birthday gift from Don and Charlie, in fact – and Don had just barely kept him from flying back from the next port when he called him. By the time he was able to arrange a call to the ship, he had known that Charlie would only be in the hospital overnight for observation, that he had escaped the incident of road rage with a black eye and a dislocated shoulder.

By the time Don was able to arrange a call to the ship, his own heart, which he had been sure would thud out of his chest for the last several hours, was finally beating more normally, again. When he had first gotten the call from the hospital on his own cell, as Charlie's emergency contact, he had felt fear, but quickly repressed it. Of course they wouldn't tell him over the phone what had happened, or how badly Charlie was hurt – he knew how these kinds of calls were handled. He managed to stay relatively calm all the way to Huntington Memorial. Once there, however, he had hurried into a busy ER, seen the police officers, and before anyone could speak with him directly, he overheard words like "CalSci professor" and "DOA".

By the time Don was able to arrange a call to the ship, he had spent half an hour on a gurney himself, trying to convince medical personnel that he was all right, he had only fainted; insisting that they let him up and take him to Charlie; believing that when they did, it would be to the morgue. After finally winning the argument, he almost passed out again when he was taken just a few cubicles down from where he had been himself, and Charlie, sitting on a table and looking miserable while someone taped his arm into position, looked up at him through his one good eye.

Don had been beside him in an instant, not even aware that he was moving that way. It was as if he had simply wished for it – "I want to be across the room" – and it had happened. He had taken Charlie's face in both hands and held it firmly, both to get a good look, and to convince himself, through touch, that his brother was alive and breathing. Don hadn't heard any of the details, yet – his own insistent panic after fainting had led the doctors to just let him in – so he had nothing specific to work with. Instead, he just repeated, "You're all right," a few times, hoping they would both believe it soon.

Later, while Charlie was being admitted for the evening, Don had sat with an L.A.P.D. officer who had told him that as far as they could tell, from talking to Charlie and other witnesses, what had gone down was a case of road rage. Dr. Henderson had a guest lecture at UCLA that afternoon, and Dr. Eppes had gone along, intending to use his visiting faculty privileges at UCLA's sciences library. They took Dr. Henderson's car. On the freeway, at one point, he had neglected to pull into another lane to allow a car from the on-ramp onto the freeway. Witnesses said later that he couldn't pull into the other lane, as he was being passed at the time.

The driver on the ramp, however, after squeezing in behind Henderson, had lowered his window and offered the one-fingered salute, while laying on his horn. Then, he had sped up as Henderson did. Henderson had tried evasive maneuvers, traveling to the lane closest to the median, and the other driver had chased him, eventually pulling up beside him and purposefully sideswiping the passenger side of the Henderson vehicle, sending it into a high-speed spin and into the median, where the car rolled one-and-a-half times, landing finally on its roof. An older vehicle, it had contained no air bags, and Dr. Henderson was DOA at the scene. The officer was amazed that Charlie, who had to be cut from the car, was in no worse shape than he was.

The story had increased Don's own heart rate again, and he had to sit with Charlie for a few minutes, watching him sleep from the pain meds they had given him for his shoulder, to reassure himself once more that Charlie was all right. Finally he had forced himself to go to an area of the hospital where he was allowed to use his cell phone, and call their father.

Waiting for the connection, and then waiting for the purser of the ship to get Alan to a phone, he remembered ruefully that he had laughed when his father had programmed the ship-to-shore number in his phone during the ride to the port. "They've asked us not to bring cell phones," Alan had reminded him. "New terrorist security measures and all that." Don had rolled his eyes. "I know, Dad, but you're only going to be gone a week. I think I can handle Charlie that long!", and his brother had glared at him from the back seat. Don closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then opened them again. Turned out, he couldn't handle Charlie that long – Alan had only been gone three days.

Finally, he heard his father's breathless voice. "What is it? We're at sea, but we'll be in Sitka in the morning. I'll fly home. Book me a flight."

Don actually smiled. For some reason, Alan's panic calmed him down. "Dad, it's okay. You don't have to come home, but I knew you'd kill…" He heard that word and his breath hitched a little. "I knew you'd be upset it we didn't tell you."

He heard his Uncle Morty in the background. "What is it?"

Don hurried on before his father spoke again. "Charlie was in an automobile accident – but he'll be all right. Dislocated shoulder is the worst of it."

"Oy, vey…" Alan's panicked tone didn't decrease. "Let me talk to him. I need to hear him myself."

"Dad, he's sleeping, now. The hospital gave him something when they reset his shoulder, and they want him to stay overnight for observation." Don allowed himself to plead a little. "Would I call you ship-to-shore and then lie to you? Dad, he'll be fine. I'll stay at the house until you get back."

Don listened to his father breathe. "What happened? How did he wreck his car?"

Don wondered how much to tell him, then figured his father would hear it in his voice if he tried to hold anything back. "Wasn't his car, Dad. He was with another prof from CalSci, they were going to UCLA. LAPD tells me it looks like a road rage thing. Somebody out there lost it…Dad…the other professor was DOA."

He heard Alan's quick intake of breath. "I should come home. You'll be working."

Don made the decision on the spot, didn't even think about it – or question it later. "No, Dad, I'll take a few days. I have a lot of time piling up, anyway." He tried to lighten the mood. "And as long as you're gone, this will count under the family emergency leave act – won't even use any vacation time!"

"I won't have a good time anyway, worrying about…" Don heard a small wrestling match and then his Uncle Morty's voice came over the line.

"Everything's really okay there, Donnie? Your brother will be all right?"

Don reassured him. "Yes, sir."

"And you can take some time off to make sure he's taking it easy for a few days?"

"Absolutely."

His uncle grunted. "Good. You take care of your brother – and I'll take care of mine." Don smiled as he heard the wrestling match again.

"You'll call again, if there's anything…_ANYTHING_ I should know."

"Yes, Dad. You'll be in Sitka tomorrow?"

Alan sighed. "Yes."

"I'll take Charlie home in the morning. Why don't you call – say around 3or 4 – you can talk to him yourself."

Alan brightened. "Good idea. Donnie, thank-you for taking care of things."

"Not a problem, Dad. He's my brother." And Don had meant it.

Standing next to Charlie at the graveside, watching his curls lift slightly in the gentle wind, he still meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The brothers sat side-by-side in the SUV and watched the other vehicles leave the cemetery. Don chanced a look at his silent brother. "Do you want to go to the reception at the Henderson house? Larry gave me directions."

"I don't understand," Charlie said.

Don started the engine. "Well, it's just a get-together for family, friends, colleagues. People will drop by all afternoon."

Charlie shook his head. "Not that. I understand that. I…don't want to go, thanks."

Don turned the engine back off and shifted in his seat so he was mostly facing Charlie. "You don't understand what?", he asked gently.

He saw a tear pop out of Charlie's eye and run down his face, unchallenged. "There was no pattern. There should be a pattern."

Don let his eyes wander to the windshield. "What about chaos theory? Random events? Anomolies?"

He could see Charlie shaking his head again. "Those things are much rarer than people realize. I've been watching the news, doing some research – road rage is fairly common. Common enough it even earned a new term in the English language."

Don tried not to sigh. During the last four days, all he could get Charlie to say was "yes" or "no". He had been so reticent with Alan on the phone that their father had been ready to fly back from Sitka again. Don had finally convinced him that Charlie was still a little out of it on pain medication. And apparently, when Don had thought Charlie was sleeping, he was sitting up in bed using his laptop, researching road rage. Now that he was finally talking, Don didn't want to say something that would make him stop; but he didn't have the answer Charlie needed, either.

He decided to change the subject. "Dad should be home by now."

Charlie looked at Don. He had taken his sunglasses off, and he looked – a little scared, maybe? It was hard to judge with all that bruising on his face. "But…if there is no pattern, there's no way to stop it."

Don was a little confused. "Stop road rage?"

Charlie raised his good arm and ran it through his hair, exasperated. "No, no…" He suddenly reached out and grabbed Don's arm. "You can't go back to work."

Don looked at him. "Well, I'm not, Buddy, not until Monday. You might feel like working by then yourself."

Charlie started to tear up again, still shaking his head, still clutching Don's arm. "It's not safe. Please. You can't. You can't. You c-c-can't."

Don took off his own sunglasses so that Charlie could see his eyes. He spoke soothingly. "It'll be okay, Charlie. I'll be all right."

Charlie looked at him for a moment, then let go of his arm and grabbed his own sunglasses from the dashboard, jamming them onto his face so hard Don was sure that he hurt his bruises. Charlie turned his head toward the passenger window, away from Don. His shoulders were as hunched as he could get them, and he shivered once or twice.

Don studied him. "Charlie? What is it? What's wrong?"

Charlie didn't turn back toward him. He just shivered again, and spoke in a tiny, tired voice. "I want to go home."

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Alan met them in the kitchen, having heard the SUV from upstairs, where he was unpacking. He silently and gently folded Charlie to him, looking at Don over his shoulder. Charlie stood stiffly at first, and Don was happy to finally see his good arm come up to touch Alan – until he saw Charlie use it to push away from him. Standing between his father and brother, Charlie stepped to the side a little to create distance.

"Are you all right, Charlie?", Alan asked with concern.

Charlie nodded. "Yes, thank you. How was Alaska? Is it as beautiful as they say?

Alan looked at Don again, a little nonplussed. He looked back at Charlie. "Um…yes, yes. I took a lot of pictures on that digital camera you gave me. You can help me download the memory cards and see for yourself!"

Charlie nodded. "Uncle Morty? He's well?"

Alan wasn't playing, anymore. He had waited four long days for this conversation. "He's concerned about you. As am I, Little One."

The use of his father's fondest term of endearment for him at least made Charlie blink a few times, but when he spoke again, it was still with an air of detachment. "Why?"

Alan sighed a little. "Son, you've been through a horrible experience. You just came from a colleague's memorial service."

Charlie just looked at him and then crossed to the refrigerator. He started to open it and then stopped. "Forgot. We're out of water."

Alan chuckled nervously. "Well, we do still get some in the pipes that run into the house, Charlie. But I was going to go to the store anyway – I don't know what you and your brother have been eating all week, there's nothing here! Would you like anything else, besides water?"

Charlie suddenly whirled, startling both Alan and Don. "No! You can't!"

Alan took a step closer to him. "Why? What's wrong?"

Charlie began to speak and breathe faster. "C-can't you have it delivered from somewhere? It's not safe, Dad, please, I can't stop it. Don't go. Stay here." He looked at Don, then. "Both of you."

Don walked across the kitchen to Charlie, and stood directly in front of him. He forced himself to look into terrified eyes and tell Charlie what he didn't want to hear. "Buddy, we can't just stay here forever. Any of us. Even if we did…there could be an earthquake, or something."

"Earthquakes have patterns. I could look for them."

"Fine. What if a…what if a twin-engine Cessna experiences engine failure three miles from here, and the pilot can't find a way to pull out of it safely, and he finally crashes into the living room?"

Alan protested mildly. "Donnie…"

Don kept his eyes on Charlie, who was actually thinking about an airplane falling on the house, now. Stranger things – more random things – had happened. His shoulders slumped. He returned Don's gaze desperately. "What can I do?", he whispered.

Don looked at him sadly. "It's not up to you," he answered. "You can't control everything, or predict everything, or even find a reason for everything." Charlie had dropped his head and was no longer looking at Don, but at his feet. Don reached out and put a hand under his chin, tilting his head back up. "You can't hide from everything, either, Charlie…or shrink-wrap the people you love."

Alan had walked closer to them both and snickered a little. "If that worked, don't you think I would have done it to the both of you a long time ago?"

Don smiled, but Charlie shrank back from both of them, shaking his head. "No, no, you don't understand. I have to find the pattern, that's all."

Alan started to speak again. "Charlie…", but Charlie interrupted him.

"Welcome home, Dad. I missed you." Before Alan could answer, Charlie turned on his heel and left the kitchen. Alan and Don listened to his footsteps on the stairs, and stared at each other.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was Saturday when Peter Henderson was buried, and Alan came home from the cruise. Don continued to stay at the house until Sunday afternoon. Charlie fluctuated between distant and clingy, his constant mood changes a challenge to both his brother and his father.

While Charlie was sleeping Sunday afternoon, Don and Alan sat at the kitchen table. Don slowly spun the coffee mug before him in a circle on the table. "I need to get some things done at the apartment," he finally said.

Alan drew his attention away from his own coffee and looked at his son. "I'm sure you do. Thank you for staying here with your brother this week."

Don shrugged. "I'm not sure…maybe I could have done a better job, or something, those first few days. He was quiet, but I thought he was just accepting things. Yesterday, and this morning, though, I don't know."

"Your brother has always had…unique coping capabilities," answered Alan. "It's nothing you did, or didn't do. It's just Charlie. The world needs to make sense to him."

Don grinned ruefully. "That's got to be a bummer. The older I get, the less sense it makes to me."

Alan smiled at him. "Trust me, my boy. That's not going to change."

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On Monday, Charlie insisted on going back to work. His eye was fully functional again, and all facial swelling was gone, although the dark blue bruises stood out against his pale complexion harshly. He would probably only be in the sling a few more days. He convinced his father it was time to move on. Alan was both reluctant to see him return to work and anxious for Charlie to find some normalcy again, so he gave in without much of an argument. Besides, Alan was feeling – a little "ship-lag", or something. He had a headache and was tired, and he looked forward to a slow day at home when he wouldn't have to try and hide that from Charlie.

After his father had dropped him off – he wouldn't he able to drive himself until he lost the sling -- Charlie was corralled immediately by the Division Chair, Dr. Randlebaum, who was just coming out of the math and sciences building. "Dr. Eppes, Good Morning. I'm relieved you feel up to teaching, again. I'm in a bit of a tight spot."

Charlie waited, silently.

Randlebaum went on, a little disconcerted by Charlie's lack of even a perfunctory greeting. The man had experienced a difficult week, however, so he let it pass. "I know he's a close friend, so you're probably aware of the fact that Dr. Fleinhardt is very ill."

Charlie felt something, again. For the last several days, he had experienced difficulty feeling anything but occasional panic at the idea of Don or his father being out in the world. Now he realized that he had forgotten to worry about Larry. "What's wrong with him?", he asked anxiously.

Dr. Randlebaum observed him, a little surprised that Charlie didn't already know. "If you'll recall," he finally said, "Dr. Fleinhardt spent a great deal of time with the Henderson family last week. Apparently he contracted a rather virulent strain of influenza from one of the grandchildren. By Saturday evening he was exhibiting all the joys the flu has to offer. He attempted to come in this morning – losing Henderson already has us in a bind in the physics department – but the poor man fainted dead away trying to unlock the door to his car. A neighbor called 9-1-1, and Dr. Flenhardt is being examined at the hospital now."

Charlie halfway turned, as if to go back to the faculty parking lot and his car. "I need to go," he said. "Which hospital?" He remembered that he couldn't drive and didn't have a car as Randlebaum continued.

"I need your assistance here, Dr. Eppes, and as I stated. Dr. Fleinhardt is still being examined. There is nothing you could do at the hospital."

Charlie looked back at the Division Chair as if he expected him to suddenly sport a second head. "What can I do here?" he countered. "I'm a math professor."

Dr. Randlebaum nodded. "Yes, yes, I quite agree. But you do have a Master's in Quantum Physics as well."

Charlie shook his head. "I got that when I was 17, and I've never used it, except in relationship to applied mathematics…"

"I know," Randlebaum interrupted, "but even without it, you're more than capable of handling Dr. Fleinhardt's freshman class. It's introductory, quite rudimentary, even." He glanced at his watch. "And meeting in half an hour."

"So is my first class," Charlie pointed out.

"Associate Professor Tanner has agreed to handle that this morning. He covered quite well for you in your absence last week." Dr. Randlebaum considered the conversation over and started to push past Charlie. "Ah, if only Dr. Rajmujen was still with us," he noted. "Yet another reason to be sorry we lost her to Harvard."

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It was almost noon before Charlie could get a cab to the hospital to check on Larry. A quick phone call around 10, between classes, had confirmed that Larry had been admitted, but the hospital wouldn't tell him anything else.

He had less than an hour, now, and he hurried to get directions from the volunteer at visitor information, then rushed toward Larry's room. Rounding the last corner, head down, he almost plowed directly into Megan, barely hearing her startled "Charlie!", hardly registering her hand on his arm.

He automatically mumbled, "Sorry," and tried to keep going, but she tightened her grip.

"Charlie. It's me."

He heard her that time, and looked up. Megan had taken time off to come to see Larry in the hospital? It must be serious. He paled a little. "Why are you here?"

She blushed slightly, and dropped her hand. "You know Larry and I are…friends. I just wanted to check on him. He called me a few hours after he was admitted this morning, to cancel a lunch da- appointment."

Charlie looked apprehensively down the hall. "How is he?"

She smiled. "He says he's much better. He was dehydrated, running such a high fever he was practically delirious. A few hours of fluids and IV antibiotics –and a shot of anti-nausea medication -- and he says he feels like a new man." She frowned then. "I wish he had called this weekend, instead of lying there sick and alone…anyway, his temperature is still elevated. He'll probably be here at least until tomorrow."

Charlie nodded silently, and began to chew on his lower lip. Megan tilted her head and looked at him closely. "How are you doing, Charlie? I called Don a few times last week to check on you."

He tore his eyes away from the corridor and looked at her. "Thank-you," he said, politely. "I'm all right."

She pressed. "Don says you went back to work this morning?"

"Yes."

Don had also said he was worried about Charlie, and she was beginning to see why. He was acting as if they had just met. "Listen, Charlie, if you need to talk…"

He was already shaking his head. "I'm all right," he repeated.

"I understand that," Megan answered. "But the offer is always open." Charlie didn't say anything, so she tilted her head toward Larry's room. "He was asleep when I left," she said, "but I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Charlie stood, immobile. "Okay," he said, and didn't move.

Megan put a hand on his arm again. "I've got to get back to the office, Charlie," she said apologetically.

He answered somewhat mechanically. "All right. Be careful."

She smiled, assured him that she would, urged him to see Larry again, and then left. Charlie watched her leave and then leaned against the wall. He suddenly had to concentrate on breathing – slowly, evenly, repetitively. He leaned there long enough, and was pale enough, that a nurse finally stopped to ask if he was all right.

Charlie saw her name tag, and pushed himself out from the wall. "Yes, I'm fine. Could you give Dr. Fleinhardt a message? Do you know who he is?"

She smiled. "Actually, yes. He's one of my patients."

"Please tell him that Charlie was here, but he was sleeping. All right?"

"Of course," she agreed, "but I was just in his room, and he's awake now…"

Charlie didn't hear her.

He was already halfway to the parking lot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was after 8 before Charlie had made a one-handed dent in the paperwork he had missed and was ready to go home. When he called his father for a ride, it took several rings for Alan to answer, and when he finally did, he sounded…bleary. Not at all the way a man who had just gotten back from a cruise should sound. Charlie felt a chill. "Dad? Are you all right?"

"Just a little cold, son. Are you ready for me to pick you up?"

Charlie tried to think. Had Larry come by the house on Saturday? If he had, he might have passed on the flu. Charlie couldn't remember. "Are you sure you're all right? Larry is really sick. He's in the hospital, there must be something going around."

Alan tried to work up some enthusiasm. "Hospital? That's too bad. He's sick?"

Now Charlie was really worried. He had just said that. "Dad? Do you have a fever?"

"It's a little warm," Alan admitted, and tried to laugh. "But then, I've been in Alaska. I'll come get you."

"No," Charlie protested. "You stay there. I called to tell you Don is bringing me home."

Charlie heard a yawn. "That's nice, son. What time should I be there?"

Oh, shit. "Dad, don't come, all right? Stay in the house, We'll be right home. Okay? Are you staying there?"

"Of course I'm here." Alan was sounding increasingly loopy. "How else would you be talking to me?"

Charlie wished he could stay on the line with his Dad, but he had to call Don and get him to go to the house as soon as possible. Then he had to call a cab, and get there himself.

"Dad, I'll be home soon, okay?"

"That's fine. That's good…" Alan still sounded confused. "Wasn't I supposed to do something?"

Charlie almost shouted. "No! Everything is taken care of. Just wait for me. On the couch."

"Good idea," Alan said, and the phone line disconnected.

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Don had worked late himself, just as behind in paperwork as Charlie was, and when he left the office at 8 all he could think about was the drive-thru burger place a few miles from his apartment. Halfway there, he remembered that he had never gotten to an ATM that day, and he didn't have any cash.

Swearing under his breath, tired, he pulled the SUV to the curb and got out. He knew there was a bank a street over, and about a block east. It would take less time to park and cut through the narrow alley than it would to negotiate the one-way streets and get there in the car.

He hurried through the alley and into the bank alcove sheltering the ATM. He looked around carefully – always the FBI agent -- and then accessed some cash. He put it in his wallet and exited the alcove, then re-entered the alley just as his cell rang. He yanked it off his belt. If this was a crime scene call, he was just going to lay down in the alley and cry.

"Eppes."

"Don, something's wrong with Dad, can you go to the house and check on him? I'm still at school, I'm waiting for a taxi."

Don stopped walking. "Slow down, Charlie. What do you mean, 'something's wrong with Dad'? What's wrong?"

"I called him, and he's talking funny, and I'm really worried…"

Don started walking again, slowly. "Charlie, are you sure this isn't just…one of your moments? You've got to admit, you're being a little unreasonable these days…"

Strolling through the alley, talking to Charlie on his cell, Don didn't even see a shadow move behind the dumpster as he passed it. He was completely unprepared when the baseball bat slammed into his skull, driving him to the ground and sending the cell flying. He didn't even feel the hands go through his pockets, find his wallet and relieve him of it. He lay spread-eagled on his stomach in the alley, unconscious, completely oblivious while the watch his father had given him on his last birthday was ripped off his wrist.

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Charlie stared at his cell in disbelief.

He couldn't believe Don had just hung up on him like that.

He wasn't wrong to be concerned about Dad, was he?

He sat on the bench outside the math and sciences building, huddled miserably. A respected colleague was dead, and Charlie had witnessed the entire horrifying event. His own body was still broken from the accident. His best friend, already grieving over the loss of someone he had been close to for years, lay sick and tied to IVs in a hospital. His father was home alone, and something was seriously wrong with him, Charlie just knew it. But sometime in the last week, he had used up all his grace with Don, and now his brother had cut him loose, tired of the soap opera Charlie had long ago started referring to as his life.

He continued to stare at the cell. Don had said he was being unreasonable the last few days. Charlie didn't see it that way, but he'd give Don the benefit of the doubt. He speed-dialed "1", to apologize to Don and tell him not to go by the house, he would just call later after he had seen Dad himself. Four rings later, the call was shuffled to voice mail, and Charlie hunched into himself even farther. Now Don wouldn't even take his calls.

He sat on the bench, waiting for his taxi, and tried not to feel as if the universe was laughing at him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Charlie found Alan standing in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of water. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and Charlie touched a palm to his father's skin. "You have a fever," he said accusingly. "You're sick."

Alan wouldn't – couldn't – deny the ache he felt all over, or the headache that had hung on all day. He was weary, too washed out to stand here and reassure Charlie all night. "It's just a cold, son," he finally answered. "Probably the big weather change between here and Alaska."

Charlie studied him. If his father had been drinking regularly, he shouldn't be dehydrated, yet. "Have you been nauseous?"

Alan seemed to consider, sipping the water. He lowered the bottle. "No. Not at all. I had a good lunch, and heated some soup for dinner." He indicated the water. "I'll just finish this and go to bed."

"Have you taken anything for the fever?"

Alan tried to think around the pounding in his head. Was he this annoying when the boys were ill? And how had Charlie materialized in the kitchen, anyway? Had he gone to CalSci and picked him up?

Charlie was pressing some pills into his hand. "Tylenol, Dad. It should bring down the fever." Alan raised his hand to his mouth obediently, and chased the pills with some of the water. In truth, this whole thing surprised him a little, too. He hardly ever got sick. He nodded absently as Charlie insisted that if he wasn't better by morning, he was going to the doctor. Vaguely, he heard Charlie's cell phone ring, and watched his son answer.

"Yes. This is Dr. Eppes." Charlie listened for a few moments and then raised his eyes to look at Alan. His eyes were wide, and the naked terror in them cut through Alan's fever haze and entered his own soul.

"What is it?", he whispered, already afraid to hear the answer.

Charlie flipped the cell shut, still looking at him, and Alan's knees almost buckled at the words. "It's Donnie. That was the hospital."

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"According to the police, your son was found unconscious in an alley. A couple passing by heard a cell phone ringing, and saw it lying on the ground. The gentleman leaned over to pick it up, and that's when he thought he saw a hand. They're certain it was a robbery. Your son's wallet lay nearby, which is good – it's where we found his ID, and emergency contact information – but there was an ATM receipt from just a few minutes before, and no cash. Also, it looks as if a watch was stripped from his wrist."

Alan reached out to grab at the doctor's coat. "I don't care about all of that. Tell us how he's hurt."

The doctor frowned. He had felt the heat of that hand through the material of his jacket. "Mr. Eppes, are you all right?"

"He has a fever," Charlie barely whispered, looking at the doctor's shoes.

Alan waved a hand. "It's nothing. A cold. What happened to Donnie?"

The doctor looked at him a moment longer. "Blunt force head trauma," he answered, and Alan's sudden pallor made him look sicker than ever. "He was hit with something heavy. He's still unconscious, and having a CT scan right now. While we're waiting, Mr. Eppes, why don't you step into an exam room yourself? Your fever seems quite high."

Charlie looked up at his father quickly, hoping he would do it, then back at the doctor's shoes. He didn't want to make any unreasonable demands. The three men sat in a corner of the waiting area of the trauma department. "I don't need…", Alan began, then stopped, suddenly a little dizzy.

The doctor spoke gently. "Mr. Eppes, there's really nothing you can do for your oldest son right now. But I think you could help your youngest son out by letting us check you over quickly. We'll just try to reduce the fever a little – you're probably right. It's probably just a cold."

Alan looked at Charlie then, who was staring at him through pain-filled, frightened eyes. He forced himself to feel some pity for his son. Not nearly recovered from what had happened to him last week, Larry in the hospital, and now this, with Donnie. He didn't need to worry about Alan, too. He patted Charlie's knee and smiled at him. "All right. If it will make you feel better."

The ghost of a smile hinted at Charlie's mouth, and he almost did feel better, for a moment. He almost let himself feel something akin to relief. He almost let himself believe that the doctors were taking care of Don, and would take care of his father.

He almost believed it, until Alan stood up to follow the doctor, and dropped in an unconscious heap at Charlie's feet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Charlie sat, in a corner of the waiting area, arms wrapped around himself as if he were cold. He was rocking slightly, and he looked so pathetic and alone, sitting there, it wasn't hard at all for Megan to spot him.

In truth, Charlie wasn't cold. He was actually using one arm to hold the other in place. He had ripped off his sling in order to drive himself and his father to the hospital. Then, he had reached out to try and catch Alan as he dropped. His shoulder, over the last few hours, had steadied from a flaming burn into a vicious throb.

It had taken him over two hours to even think of calling any of Don's team members. Colby was now with LAPD, trying to figure out what had happened. Charlie had not been able to reach David, and Megan was sitting down next to him. "I was probably here when they brought him in," she said. "I was upstairs visiting Larry."

Charlie tried to stop rocking, but it seemed to improve the pain in his shoulder. "How is he?", he asked, not taking his eyes off the floor.

Megan took in his appearance. "Are you all right, Charlie? Maybe you should have someone tape up your arm, again."

Charlie didn't answer, so finally Megan did. "Larry is about the same as when I saw him at lunch. He still has a high fever. A little higher, actually. He didn't remember your coming to see him."

Charlie didn't respond to that, either.

"Have you heard anything about…either of them?"

Charlie finally looked at her. It was well after midnight of the first day he'd been back to work since the accident, and he was clearly exhausted. "D-Dad has septicemia," he started.

Megan raised her eyebrows. "Blood poisoning? How?"

"They found a small cut on his leg. Said it was at least several days old. He must have hurt himself somehow on the cruise, and it got infected…" Charlie looked as guilty as if he had taken a knife to his father himself. "Don has a Grade 3 concussion, and…and a hairline skull fracture." His own voice fractured saying the words, and Megan winced. "He won't wake up," Charlie finished lamely.

They sat silently for a while, and he spoke again. "Don's in a room on the third floor, but Dad's isn't ready yet. How can a room not be ready in the middle of the night?" His voice was plaintive.

Megan touched his arm gently. "Let me give you a ride home. You need some rest, Charlie. I'll bring you back in the morning."

He kept talking as if he hadn't heard her. "I found the pattern."

Megan studied him. "What pattern?"

Charlie smiled sadly at her, and turned his attention to the floor again. "To everything. It's me. I'm the link, the common denominator."

"Charlie, what are you talking about?"

He brought one arm down from his chest so that he could enumerate for her on his fingers. "I was in the car with Peter Henderson. We were talking. Maybe if we hadn't been talking, things…things would have been different. After, Larry had to be with his family, because I listened to Peter strangle on his own blood and couldn't save him, and, and Larry got sick. I sent my Dad on that cruise; he hurt himself because I sent him there. Then he got sick, too. And I was talking to Donnie on the phone tonight, so he wasn't paying attention."

"Charlie, you know that's not true. None of these things are your fault. They were…random occurrences."

"Ch-Chaos Theory," Charlie supplied.

"Right," Megan answered. "Wrong place, wrong time kind of things."

Charlie shook his head and looked at her. "No. Maybe one. But all of them? There has to be a pattern."

Before Megan could respond again, they were joined by the doctor. "Mr. Eppes, your father is settled in a room, now. He's still unconscious, but we're hopeful we've caught the septicemia early and the antibiotic cocktail we've started will show improvement by morning, and the IV fluids will stablize his blood pressure." He noticed the awkward way Charlie was holding his arm. "Don't tell me we missed another injury. Your arm?"

"He was in an automobile accident last week," Megan offered. "Dislocated shoulder."

"It's okay," Charlie said, even though it was obvious to all of them that it wasn't. "The sling is as home. I had to drive. Dad was sick."

The doctor sighed. "Then go home and put it back on, son. There's nothing more you can do here tonight, and you look ready to drop, yourself."

"I'll take him," Megan reiterated, but Charlie didn't look like he was moving anytime soon. The doctor sat on the other side of Charlie.

"I would consider it a personal favor it you went home," he said. "Otherwise, from the looks of it, I'll have to explain to my superiors how two Eppes ended up unconscious in my waiting room in two separate incidents during the same shift." The doctor never knew it, but his next words were the magic ones that sent Charlie home. "I really think you've done enough for one night."

Charlie shuddered.

Megan was wrong.

Even the doctor could see the pattern.

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So Charlie let Megan drive him home, and he put his sling back on and sat on the couch, clutching his cell phone with his good hand, and wondered how the hell he was supposed to fight chaos.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Megan was back at Charlie's house by 8 the next morning. She figured he'd want to get to the hospital as soon as possible. When repeated knocks on the door went unanswered, she tried the knob — and frowned when she found it unlocked. She rested her hand on the gun in her shoulder holster and crept inside, promising herself that if Charlie just left it unlocked, she'd give him a lecture worthy of Don himself. She stood in the entryway and called softly. "Charlie!" She stood still for a few moments, and listened for anything amiss.

All she heard was a snore.

She relaxed her stance a little, but left her fingertips near her weapon, took a step and peeked around the corner into the living room.

Charlie slumped on the couch, asleep, still in the same clothes he was wearing at the hospital seven hours earlier. A small pillow was behind his injured shoulder, and his head shared the corner. He needed a shave.

Megan walked over to the couch and stood in front of him. She almost hated to wake him up. While she hesitated, the cell phone still held loosely in his hand began to ring, and he jerked, then grimaced as the movement affected his shoulder. Without opening his eyes, he flipped the phone open and brought it to his ear. "…'Lo," he rasped. He listened for a moment. "Sorry. I meant to call. It's that late?" He opened his eyes then and saw Megan right in front of him. He jerked again. "Shit!" he yelled into the phone. Megan smiled a little as he tried to explain himself — apparently, to his boss. "No, no, not you, I'm sorry…listen, both my – my father and my brother were admitted to the hospital last night, I have to request another leave." Charlie made a face and held the phone a few inches away from his ear. Megan could hear an excited voice on the other end, but couldn't make out any words. Charlie spoke again, interrupting. "I'm sorry, Dr. Randlebaum, I'll ask my brother to stop getting robbed in alleys — and I won't let my father get away with this blood infection stuff any longer, either. I'll explain that it's an inconvenience." With that, Charlie flipped the cell shut, not even saying 'good-bye'. He threw the phone across the living room, where it bounced off of Alan's recliner and crashed onto the floor. He glared at a startled Megan. "What?"

She actually found herself taking a step back. "Wow. You okay, Charlie?" He didn't feel that was a question worth answering, so she went on after a few moments. "I came to give you a ride to the hospital, but it doesn't look like you're quite ready yet. Aren't those the clothes you were wearing last night?"

Charlie looked down at himself, then rubbed his eyes with his good hand. "Ouch," he said, when he hit the bruises. "I just sat down for a minute," he mumbled.

Megan was seriously worried about Charlie. He had a lot to handle all of a sudden — and it didn't look like he had made a very good start. She spoke quietly. "Look, Charlie, I should check in at the office — see what Colby's got, and brief David. Why don't you sleep a little more? Take a shower, shave, have something to eat — I'll come back around 10:30 to take you to the hospital, okay?"

He sighed and looked blearily up at her. "I'm sorry."

She smiled reassuringly. "It's going to be okay, Charlie. We're not going to leave you alone in all of this." He looked rapidly away and she was afraid she'd said too much. _Well, I'm in trouble anyway_, she thought, and she leaned down to quickly touch his face. "I'll see you soon," she said when she straightened again, and started for the door. "By the way," she called back over her shoulder, turning slightly to catch Charlie in a yawn, "I'll be locking this for you."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby was already catching David up on the news by the time Megan arrived, and she walked into the end of the conversation. "…idiot still had the bat when they caught him."

Megan was shocked. "Bat? What?"

Colby nodded at her. "Mornin'. I was just telling David, the asshole who clubbed Don tried to use one of his credit cards at a gas station. He was headed out of town, but he hadn't even dumped the bat. The grip end is covered with prints, and the business end with blood and matted hair – probably Don's. There shouldn't be a lack of forensic evidence on this one!"

David was shaking his head. "Man. All I did was forget to charge my cell. How's Don?"

Megan shrugged. "I was at the hospital last night with Charlie. He said Don has a Grade 3 concussion and a hairline skull fracture. He hadn't regained consciousness, yet."

Colby looked away and David down at his feet. "Doesn't sound good."

"Not great, no," Megan agreed. "I stopped by Charlie's this morning to take him back to the hospital so that he could see both of them, but – well, he wasn't ready yet. I'll try again in a couple of hours."

David looked at her. "That's right, Larry's in the hospital too. How's he doing?"

Megan frowned. "He sounded worse than ever when I spoke to him on the phone this morning. But actually, I was referring to Alan."

Colby jerked his head back around. "Alan? Don-and-Charlie's-Father, Alan?"

Megan let out a long breath. "Right. He passed out in the ER last night when they went to see about Don. He's been admitted with blood poisoning. Apparently an infection in his leg got way out of hand."

The trio exchanged glances, and nobody could come up with an accurate description of what it meant to be an Eppes right now. Instead, they filed silently to their desks and got to work.

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A little after 10, Megan informed her partners she was going back to Charlie's. They both decided to go with her, hoping they would get to see Don – or at least get some updated word as to his condition, more details than the hospital would give them, as non-family members, over the phone.

On the way, Megan told them about her conversation with Charlie the night before.

David was incredulous. "So he thinks this is somehow all because of him?"

"That's idiotic," Colby interjected.

Megan demurred. "You know how sensitive he is ordinarily, anyway. I read the police report from that accident last week – Don got a copy. Henderson didn't die on impact, Charlie had to listen to him choke and gurgle and gasp out a last message for his wife – that's a pretty overwhelming experience, for anybody."

"So he's already not playing with a full deck," paraphrased Colby.

Megan would have rolled her eyes, but she was driving. Instead, she made an observation. "I've gotten to know Charlie pretty well the last couple of years, and I only know of three people who can reel him back in when he gets this close to the edge. And Larry and Alan together don't have the success rate Don does." She sighed, all her concern for Charlie, Larry, Alan and Don going into it. "Right now, Charlie needs his brother."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

At least this time the door was locked – probably because Megan herself had locked it just a few hours ago. It took several minutes for Charlie to answer their knocks and rings. Colby had resorted to pounding, and Megan had her cell open to call and see if he'd already left, when the door finally opened.

Right away, Megan noticed three things.

Charlie had shaved, and changed his clothes – and was barefoot.

He held the door slightly open and peered out at them, not inviting them in. Megan cleared her throat. "Charlie, the guys and I were hoping we could go with you to the hospital. You should probably put some shoes on first, though."

He blinked from one face to the other, finally settling his eyes back on Megan. "I'm not going," he said. He started to close the door, but David thought fast enough to put his hand out.

He flashed his most charming smile at Charlie. "May we come in? Have some coffee? Or…I don't know…water?"

Charlie frowned. "**Do not** treat me as if I don't know exactly what you're doing, Sinclair. I'm not stupid." He sniggered. "Haven't you heard? I'm a friggin' genius."

David held up his hand in surrender. "You're right. I'm sorry. We want to come in and talk to you."

Charlie let go of the door temporarily to run his good hand through his hair, and Colby took advantage of the situation. He led the charge, like a tackle blocking for his team, and the three agents crowed around Charlie in the vestibule. He glared at Colby and tried to get around him. On his best days, Charlie tried not to get this physically close to so many people at one time – and this was definitely not one of his best days. He took a step to the right. Colby, facing him, took a step to the left.

"Please let me go," Charlie said, disgusted himself at the whining caliber of his voice. "You can go to the hospital without me."

Megan tried to be the voice of reason. She knew the two bigger men were intimidating Charlie, even though he knew them as friends, and she tried to turn that into a "good cop-bad cop" scenario. "Charlie, you'll be all right. We'll go with you."

He lashed out at her. "I don't care about that! Weren't you paying attention last night? I found the pattern, and – and I have to break it, I have to remove myself from the equation, before I kill everybody!" His voice rose nearly an octave and gained considerable speed toward the end.

Colby regarded him, face impassive. Back home in Idaho, Colby had a couple of brothers, one older, one younger. He missed them – sometimes a lot, when he saw Don and Charlie together. He'd heard all of the allusions to difficulty in their relationship in the past, but he wasn't sure he bought the stories. Seldom had he seen such a solid connection between two people. He thought about Don, lying in the hospital, naybe still unconscious, and he remembered the look on his face when that witness had grabbed an Agent's gun and shot up the FBI bullpen a few months ago, narrowly missing Charlie. Their consultant was teetering on the edge of some precipice he didn't really understand, but he could tell that he was hanging ten already. So Colby decided that he could do it: For Charlie, whom he genuinely liked, and for his team leader, who couldn't do it himself. Colby would channel Don.

He took a step closer to Charlie. "For a Whiz Kid," he said lowly, "you can sure be a freakin' idiot when you want to be." He felt David looking at him, felt Megan's hand on his arm, but he ignored them both. Charlie needed Don? Charlie would get Don. He physically poked the shorter man in the chest, near the sling. "You want patterns? I'll give you patterns. I see a pattern of pure selfishness, Charlie. Three men are lying in the hospital, and it's all about you. **You're** the victim. I see you developing a secondary pattern right now. We create our patterns in life as we go, kid. What are you trying to design? Your best friend becomes more ill by the minute – are you sitting beside him, as he would beside you? Your father lies in a hospital bed sick, unable to get to his injured son, knowing his other son is unwilling to do it for him. Your brother takes a baseball bat to the head. Are you standing over him, talking to him, encouraging him to wake up?" He poked Charlie again. "No. No. And No. So what the hell are you doing?" He took a step back, put on his disgusted face from the interrogation box. "Shit, you're not even running scared, dude. You're standing still scared."

Colby stopped talking and they all listened to each other breathe for a while – mostly Charlie, who looked as if he was on the edge of hyperventilating. His breathing was rapid, shallow, yet loud and ragged. He continued to stare at Colby, his face, at first white, slowly regaining color. He never broke eye contact with Colby, not even when he spoke to one of Colby's partners. "M-M-Megan," he finally managed to get out, still staring at the other man, "I could use some help with my shoes."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

By the time the four of them had entered the lobby of the hospital, Colby knew he had created a monster. In the car, he had been concerned. Charlie hadn't said a word since he asked Megan to help him put his shoes on. In the back seat beside him, Colby had snuck in a few sideways glances, and his face — it confused him for a while. Colby had seen Charlie frightened. He had seen him focused on his work. He had seen his somewhat hard-to-digest excitement and love for theory and math as he tried to teach them all something. He had seen Charlie friendly. During the "math fight" he had conducted in his office with Marshall Penfield, and when the FBI forced him to work with a physic who was consulting on the same case he was, Colby had seen Charlie angry, and frustrated. Yet he couldn't name what he saw today until he realized that it looked familiar — it reminded him of the look Don would get, going into a long-anticipated bust. Charlie was determined, and hyper-alert.

He hadn't looked at Colby since he finally broke eye contact with him at the house, and Colby hoped that he hadn't gone too far. Well…of course he'd gone too far, that was the point. What he hoped was that Charlie would eventually understand.

At the hospital, Megan was still negotiating into the parking space when Charlie opened the door and got out. He was halfway across the parking lot before the rest of them got out of the car. The three agents finally caught up to him just before he entered the building. Charlie led the way to a bank of elevators, pushed the "up" button and turned to them. He looked at Megan. "You," he said, and his tone indicated an order. "Go see Larry and tell him I'll be there as soon as I can." He looked at David — but not Colby. "You two are with me. We'll check on Don first. My Dad will want to know."

He turned back to the elevator and the agents exchanged glances. Charlie was bossing them around, now? Megan shrugged as the elevator dinged and the door opened, and they followed him inside.

They let Megan off on the second floor and continued on in silence to the third. The elevator opened directly onto a nursing station, and Charlie crossed the hall in two steps. "I want information on Donald Eppes," he said loudly. Colby and David hung a little behind him, and let the kid work.

A woman looked up from her position behind the desk, where she was entering information on a computer. "I'm sorry," she said, in a tone that clearly indicated she really wasn't. "That information is only available to family members." She dismissed Charlie and looked back at the computer.

"I'm his brother," Charlie said, raising his voice even more. He reached behind him and grabbed a sleeve, pulled an agent up beside him without looking. It turned out to be David. "These are his cousins." He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, fumbled with it for a moment and finally thrust his driver's license at her.

She studied his identification too long for Charlie. "Would you like me to sign something?" he asked. "You can bring in a handwriting analyst and compare the signatures." Colby grinned. "Math fight" Charlie was back. He liked him — he was fun.

She finally stood and handed back the license. "Please lower your voice," she said coldly. "This is a hospital, in case you hadn't noticed." She walked to a stack of binders and searched through them perfunctorily. "His chart is not here," she stated flatly, and started to sit down again.

Colby opened his mouth to say something, but he thought he heard an actual growl come out of Charlie and he stopped, startled.

Charlie leaned over the counter. "Two things," he said, and this time his voice was lower — but definitely not any friendlier. "First, if you are a nurse, I don't want you anywhere near my brother. Second, my cousin here is an FBI agent — hell of a witness in court. Tell me about my brother **now**, or I will sue you, this hospital, and everyone in it so fast and for so much money you'll be living under a bridge by midnight."

Colby really hoped Charlie wasn't going to hold a grudge over that whole scene at the house. He was pretty sure he wanted this guy on his side.

The woman turned a shade of red not usually found in nature. "I'm a Ward Clerk," she spat, "and if the chart isn't here it's because the doctor has it and is probably in the room with him now."

"There, you see?" Charlie bared his teeth at her -- it couldn't really be described as a smile. "That wasn't all that difficult, was it?" He spun on his heel so fast he almost buried his face in Colby's chest. He looked up at him then — finally — and to Colby's utter surprise he winked at him. "Come on, cousins," Charlie said, and headed down the corridor.

They met the doctor just outside of Don's room. Charlie spied the blue binder and the lab coat and was on him immediately. "Have you been with my brother? Don Eppes?"

The doctor looked at the three of them. "Yes. Dr. Headson. I'm a neurologist."

Even Charlie was unprepared for that. "You're kidding."

"Afraid not. Although after 10 years of professional jokes, I'm convinced I should have gone ahead and changed my name when I chose this specialty back in med school."

Charlie tried to get his mojo back. "Um. Well…Don. How's Don?" The doctor looked at Colby and David. "It's okay," Charlie assured him. "They're family. Cousins."

Dr. Headson nodded. "Don's most recent CT scan doesn't indicate any swelling of the brain, or any bleeders. He regained consciousness early this morning, and had some expected problems. Disorientation, confusion, nausea, headache, double vision. I've given him an analgesic for pain. He's very weak, and he'll probably be with us for a couple of days. But for a man who took a baseball bat to the head, he's doing well."

Charlie looked at the floor and let out a long breath. "Can we see him?" he asked, and "math fight" Charlie was gone, replaced with something infinitely more vulnerable.

The doctor nodded. "Of course. He's been sleeping a few hours, but that's all right.. It's the best thing for him right now."

"I just want to see him. I won't wake him up."

Dr. Headson stepped away from the door. "You and…your cousins…should probably not stay too long, just the same. Give him the morning to rest."

Charlie pushed open the door and stepped in, David and Colby close behind. They quietly approached the bed and studied Don. There was a large bruise on his left temple, and a neat row of stitches near the hairline. The rest of his face was unnaturally pale. Charlie looked at his face for a moment, and then his eyes were drawn to his chest, rising and falling regularly in sleep. Charlie started to put his hand out and place it there, so he could feel that his brother was breathing as well as see it, but then he pulled back, afraid to wake him. After a while, Charlie's eyes moved to trace the IV lines that led into Don's limp hand on the bed, and he reached out again. This time he allowed himself contact. Just barely — his fingertips rested on Don's arm, and he felt that it was warm. Charlie closed his own eyes, and felt that Don was warm, felt that Don was alive.

Then he opened his eyes and pulled his hand back again, and looked at Colby and David. "I'm going to see my father," he whispered. "Stay as long as you want."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The news in Alan's room was not as good.

Charlie stood just inside the door, shocked at the sight of his father. An IV line entered his hand, just as one did his brother's. A blood pressure cuff was loose around one upper arm, and a thin sheen of sweat stood out on his fever-flushed face. An oxygen canula was perched in his nostrils. His eyes were closed, but he was moving restlessly in the bed. Twice while Charlie stood there, he heard him moan.

Charlie finally got his feet to move and crossed to the bed. He stood uncertainly over it. "Dad?" His voice was barely a whisper, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Daddy?" He almost jumped at the echo of the word in the room. Daddy? He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't said that since he was — what — 10?

Alan opened his eyes and looked at him. They were glazed, and he seemed to be having trouble focusing. He licked his lips. "Hmphf," he managed. "Aren't you late for school, boy?"

Charlie shifted nervously. "I'm not teaching today, Dad. Can I get you anything?"

Alan closed his eyes again. "Of course you're not teaching, Don, you're only in eighth grade. Tell your mother I need coffee this morning. I have a headache."

The door opened behind him and Charlie turned his head desperately, relieved beyond measure to see a nurse. "What's wrong with him?"

The RN smiled gently and stepped to the head of the bed to check Alan's IV and take his temperature. "He has a very high fever," the man said. "We're monitoring his BP very carefully. Would you like to speak with his doctor?"

Alan opened his eyes again, disturbed by all the fuss in the general vicinity. He saw the male nurse standing nearest him. "Charlie," he said, "I like your haircut. Did you feed the koi? No allowance until your chores are done, you know the rule."

The real Charlie suddenly felt weak in the knees. "I think I'd better," he said.

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Half an hour later, Charlie was headed for Larry's room, head down, thinking about what the doctor had said.

The broad spectrum antibiotics weren't working, and Dr. Stevenson — he hoped he could keep all these guys straight — was afraid the septicemia was headed for septic shock. Septic shock had a mortality rate of over 50 percent in his father's age group. Charlie had nearly stopped breathing himself when the doctor said that.

Alan's fever was high enough, and had been that way long enough, that he was delirious. During the 15 minutes Charlie spent with him while he was waiting for the doctor, and the 10 minutes he had been there after, Alan had never recognized him. Once, he had called him "Spot", and whistled at him as if he were a dog.

Charlie took it as long as he could — which he admitted was not very long — and then he had headed for Larry's room, and hopefully more news as good as Don's had been.

Still distracted, watching his feet, he pushed open the door to the sound of harsh coughing. He jerked his head up, and saw Larry holding an oxygen mask off his face a few inches, then dropping it back when he was finished. He turned watery eyes to Charlie and tried to smile behind the mask, but it didn't even come close.

Charlie stared at him. More IV lines. Another sweaty forehead. He looked around the room for Megan, and felt as if the walls were closing in around him.

Larry had lifted the mask, again. "Charles," he whispered, sounding as if he had laryngitis, "Come here."

Charlie's legs obeyed, but he couldn't make himself speak when he got to the bed. He just looked at Larry sadly.

Larry watched him. "Pneumonia," he whispered. "Antibiotics not working."

"Put the mask back on." Charlie finally found his voice and wondered if this hospital had a single antibiotic in its aresenal that was worth a damn.

Larry did and sluggishly reached for a notepad and pen on the bedside table. Charlie saw his intention and handed the items to him. Larry scribbled for a bit, then handed the notepad to Charlie:

_Megan told me. Don. Alan. So sorry. OK?_

Charlie handed the pad back and looked at him. Larry looked exhausted, worried, terrible. "Don's doing well," he offered finally, "but I haven't seen him awake, yet. And I was…just with Dad. He's on this same floor. He said he wanted some coffee." There. That was all true.

Larry scribbled again, and passed he notepad back:

_M, D, C called to c scene. Said you should call._

Charlie leaned over to read the words and nodded. He straightened again and finally just asked. "Do you feel as bad as you look?"

Larry turned a page and scribbled again. His hands were beginning to sag with the effort, and this time Charlie took the pad and the pen:

_Hard to breathe. Tired._

Charlie read the words and placed the pad and pen back on the bedside table. He dug deep within himself, thought of chalk dust and fishing and everything he loved, and found a genuine smile for Larry. "You should rest," he said. "I'll go see if Don is awake. If you need anything, have someone page me — I'll be in the hospital somewhere!"

The corners of Larry's mouth turned up and his eyes began to droop down. Charlie leaned over and spoke to his friend quietly. "Hey, Larry, one more thing. You'll like this. I hung up on Randlebaum this morning. He was still talking."

Larry's eyes widened for a moment, and his lips parted in a real smile. He lifted his hand to the oxygen mask and removed it again. "Thank you," he whispered.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dr. Headson was frowning when Charlie found him next to Don's bed. The professor honestly didn't know how much more bad news he could take. "What is it? What's wrong?"

The Dr. looked at him. "Your brother has not awakened again since that first time early this morning. His blood pressure is a little elevated, too. I'm afraid he may be slipping into a coma."

Thankfully, one of the agents had left a chair near the bed and Charlie sat down in it hard. "You said he was all right."

"He is, technically. There's no medical reason we know of for this to happen. I've ordered an MRI. It will show us more than the CT scan." As if summoned by his words, a pair of orderlies pushed through the door with a gurney then, and took positions at Don's bed. Charlie pushed himself to his feet, amazed that his legs would hold him, and watched his brother being transferred onto the gurney and then pushed out of the room. "I'll let you know what we find," the doctor promised, following them.

Charlie stood in the empty room. There was nowhere to go, no place was safe. He began to pace, finally stopping to pick up a remote off the bedside table and flick on the television. He hated television most of the time, unless he was watching with his father and brother — a game, or something — and he didn't even know why he did it. He watched the screen absently, surfing, never registering anything until he heard a female announcer. Something about "dramatic footage". He forced himself to focus.

"…caught on video just moments ago, by a tourist whose intention was to film his granddaughter doing a cartwheel. Our technicians have zoomed in on the background, and if you'll watch carefully you'll see two people we now know to be FBI agents approach the vehicle…"

Charlie did watch carefully, and he recognized Megan approaching the passenger side of a dark blue pick-up, Colby the driver's side. For just a second, he thought he could see David even further back, talking to someone on the sidewalk. Charlie watched closely, no longer hearing the announcer, and he easily spotted the shotgun when it came out the driver's open window. It was not a challenge at all to see Colby take a round in the chest at close range, and fly backwards out of camera range.

What Charlie didn't see was the aftermath, Megan and David emptying their weapons into the vehicle and the driver slumping limply halfway out the window. Charlie didn't see that, because he was unconscious himself, passed out on the floor of Don's empty hospital room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Someone was pulling on him, shoving at him, yelling about him, but Charlie just wanted to be left alone. He was having a bad day. He couldn't exactly remember why, but he recognized the feeling of dread in his stomach. He didn't want to wake up. He was happier sleeping. Besides that, he was having a dream about Don. It seemed so real, too – although Charlie did wonder why he dreamed an imperfect Don. In his dream, Don slurred his speech, as if he was drunk. "Lemmeeup," he kept repeating, with an occasional "brudda" thrown in.

Then something foul-smelling entered Charlie's consciousness. He jerked away from it, and suddenly felt such an intense pain in his wrist that his eyes flew open in protest. He found himself eye-to-eye with Dr. Headson, and bits of his memory started coagulating again. "Where's Don?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

The doctor's face seemed too close to his own, and Charlie was having trouble focusing on words, even though he could see his lips moving. Instead, he heard Don again, from his dream. "Brudda…" He turned his head a little, to see if his dream had somehow escaped his head, and found himself looking at Don – who was looking back, when he wasn't struggling with at least two orderlies, trying to climb off a gurney. "Lemmeego," he growled. "Chawee!"

Charlie started struggling himself then, but he didn't have any arms. One was still tied up in a sling, and the other was being firmly gripped by Dr. Headson. Charlie yanked at it and the pain nearly blinded him, this time making his eyes squeeze shut.

"Charlie," he heard in his ear, "tell your brother you're all right. If we don't calm him down I'll have to sedate him, and he just woke up again. Do it now!"

Charlie opened his eyes and sought out Don above him. It was at that point that he figured out he was on the floor, between the bed and the gurney, and he wondered vaguely why, but still did as he was told. "Donnie," he gasped, "Donnie. I'm all right. It's okay. Just relax."

He watched Don slowly stop struggling, search him out with bleary eyes. "Yer on da floor," he said drunkenly.

"I was tired," Charlie answered.

"Me, too," admitted Don, and he allowed himself to be completely laid back on the gurney.

Charlie looked back at Dr. Headson, who raised an eyebrow at him and spoke lowly, trying not to upset Don again. "He woke up in the middle of the MRI, so we brought him back. Opened the door, and you were on the floor unconscious. Looks like you used your good hand to try and break the fall – it's not your good hand, anymore. Looks fractured to me. Do you remember what happened?"

As soon as the question was voiced, Charlie did. He tried to look at Don again, but the orderlies were moving the gurney to the other side of the bed so that they could transfer him back. "I saw something on the television," he said.

Dr. Headson laughed. "I know what you mean. Hard to believe someone writes that stuff."

Charlie ignored him. "I have to go to the ER," he said, struggling to sit up.

"No kidding," Headson replied, holding him down. "Max will go get a wheelchair and take you down to get that wrist x-rayed. I think I see some fresh bruising on your head, too."

Charlie heard Don murmuring again. "..uddy…".

He pointed himself at the bed and talked. "It's okay, Don, everything is all right. We're both good. I'll take care of everything, don't worry."

"…kay…" Don sounded like he was going to go to sleep again, and the thought both terrified and relieved Charlie. He knew Don needed rest, but would he wake up again? The orderly formerly known as Max materialized with a wheelchair, and he and Dr. Headson helped Charlie into it. He insisted that they take the scenic route, by Don's bed.

His brother wasn't so out of it that he didn't recognize a wheelchair when he saw one, and he started to move in the bed. "Wrong?"

Charlie wished he could touch Don, and again cursed his lack of arms. "Take this sling off," he asked, and to his surprise, someone did. He reached out, wondering if his shoulder was getting better or if it just seemed that way because of his wrist, and grabbed Don's hand. "Nothing's wrong, Donnie, I just got tired of standing." Don squeezed his fingers and Charlie would have happily sat there with a broken wrist forever if he hadn't heard the drone of the television suddenly. "Please!" He turned to the orderly beside him frantically. "Turn it off!" Max found the remote on the floor and did, then started pulling and pushing Charlie away from Don, whose eyes were closed again.

They popped open when Charlie's hand lost contact with his, and he saw his brother receding into the distance. "Going?"

Charlie waved at him from the end of the bed, then reached over and squeezed a toe through the sheet. "Just for a little while. I'll be right back, okay?"

"…kay…" Don repeated and Charlie glared at Dr. Headson. "You'd better damn well find a way to wake him up when I get back."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Charlie was wheeled past the waiting area in the ER, directly by a cadre of FBI agents. He recognized several of them, and saw David's bald head in the crowd. "Please stop," he said to Max, but the orderly had just checked his watch, and his shift was almost over, so he kept going.

Charlie took a deep breath, shouted "Megan!" at the top of his lungs, and was surprised when it didn't seem to phase anybody. Apparently they were used to people screaming in the ER. Max parked him in triage, and walked away a few feet to speak with a nurse. He turned back to Charlie. "Just wait here, man," he said. "Somebody'll come for you when there's a room. Later!"

Charlie sat for a while and tried not to hyperventilate. For some reason, his mind kept replaying the scene at the house that morning. He kept feeling Colby poking his finger into his chest. Charlie had screwed up again. He'd become useless to his family in almost record time, Colby had brought him back, and he hadn't even thanked him. Instead, he had let Colby go back to work as an FBI agent, making the terrible assumption that he would see him again later. Now he was somewhere, just a few feet away, fighting for his life…he hoped.

Cradling his wrist against his stomach and trying not to put too much pressure on his shoulder, which mercifully had not been put back into the sling, Charlie climbed carefully out of the wheelchair and started back for the group of agents in the waiting area. When he reached them, he spied David's head again and headed toward him, seeing halfway there that Megan was in a chair on the other side. They seemed to get farther away every step he took, but finally he stood before them. "I saw the news," he said, and they both looked up, startled.

David spoke first. "He was wearing his vest, Charlie. There's a chance it won't be too bad…" He seemed a little confused. "But there was blood." He looked at Megan. "I saw blood. Did you see blood?" She nodded silently.

Another agent squeezed past Charlie and jostled him, sending dizzying waves of pain radiating from his wrist. He grunted, and Megan looked at him again, and tilted her head, frowning. "Where's your sling?" she asked, She tilted her head the other way. "Isn't that the wrong arm? What happened?"

The dizzying waves radiating from his wrist had found a partner in his head, and Charlie broke out in a cold sweat. "I- I think I br-broke something," he answered, and then he passed out again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The next time Charlie woke up, he was looking up at the same ER physician who had admitted Don and Alan the night before. The man stared at him morosely. "You had to do it, didn't you? You had to find a way to pass out in my ER. Why didn't you do this upstairs?"

Charlie licked his lips, and tried to corral his thoughts. "I did," he offered. "An orderly brought me here and left me."

The doctor frowned. "You've lost consciousness twice?"

Charlie tried to sit up. "It's no big deal," he said. Hands pushed him down again, and he sighed. "The first time, I- I was shocked, by something."

The doctor's frown deepened. "Electrical?"

Charlie shook his head, noting for the first time his mammoth headache. "No. Well, yes. It was a television."

"You were upstairs trying to fix one of our televisions?"

Charlie suddenly flashed on an English lit class he had taken somewhere along the way, and he thought of Shakespeare. This was turning into a comedy of errors. He tried to explain himself again. "No. I wasn't _working_ on it, I was _watching _it."

The doctor exchanged a glance with someone else in the room, then looked back at Charlie. "Were you watching it in the shower or something? How did it shock you?"

Charlie struggled against the still-present hands to sit up again. Somebody in the conversation was a buffoon. Maybe he had hit his head, too. "No! No! Dammit…" He was growing increasingly frustrated, and it wasn't helping his headache. "I _saw_ something that shocked me. News footage — a local FBI agent being shot."

This time the doctor sighed. "Granted, that's disturbing. In fact, the Agent is actually in this ER. But why would that make you pass out?"

"He's a friend of mine," Charlie answered. "He works with my brother. The team is not having a good week."

Comprehension began to dawn on the doctor's face. "Ah. I see. What about the second time?"

Charlie blinked at him. "The second time? Was Colby shot again?"

The doctor pulled up a stool and sat down. "No, son, the second time you lost consciousness. Here in the ER."

This conversation was exhausting. "Oh. Oh. Someone ran into me, and it hurt my wrist."

With a murmur of understanding, the doctor reached over Charlie and picked up his wrist gently, palpated it a little and then laid it back down on the gurney. Suddenly his face came within inches of Charlie's own, so quickly that he slid out of focus, and Charlie closed his eyes tightly against the frightening results. "Stop that," he whispered miserably.

"Okay," he heard from a distance, and he risked opening his eyes again. The doctor was standing, scribbling on a chart. "We need to X-ray that wrist. Also, there's fresh bruising on your temple and you've lost consciousness twice. Finally, you're an Eppes. Gonna have to insist on a CT scan."

"That's ridiculous," Charlie protested, and tried to get up a third time. To his eternal embarrassment, the doctor pushed him down with one finger.

"Not getting in an upright position until that CT scan is clear." He studied Charlie. "Have you eaten, today?"

Charlie closed his eyes. "I've been busy."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He actually fell asleep on the gurney, then, and woke up when he felt his bed jar. He opened his eyes to see that he was being pushed off an elevator. He tried to twist his head around to see the technician responsible for the ride. "Where are we?" he asked the woman.

"We're almost to radiology," she answered. "We'll see where the line is shortest — CT or X-ray." She pulled sharply to the left then, about to pass another gurney and tech in the corridor, going the other way.

While Charlie was flat on his back, the passenger on the other gurney was sitting at about a 30-degree angle. When he saw Charlie, he put a hand out and tried to grab onto the gurney. "HEY, WOAH, WOAH, EVERYBODY STOP!" Colby had used his best "FBI — Freeze!" voice, and everybody did. He tilted his head to smile up at his technician. "Dude, back me up a little, get me even with that guy, okay?" The tech shrugged, and did as he was asked. Once the gurneys were even, Colby looked at Charlie, who was craning his head around trying to see what all the yelling was about. The mathematician's eyes grew round and wide when he focused on Colby. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Colby looked at the woman piloting Charlie's gurney. "Hey, can you guys get us a little closer, maybe give us a couple of minutes?" He smiled, and she smiled back. The techs negotiated the gurneys close enough to the wall so that another could pass if needed, then stepped away a few feet, still keeping their charges in sight.

Colby grabbed the edge of Charlie's gurney. He had been going for Charlie's arm, but at the last second he noted the swelling and discoloration. "Hey, Whiz Kid. What the hell are you doing here?"

Charlie's eyes, still wide and glued on Colby, filled with tears. "I saw the video," he said. "God, Colby. Are you all right?"

Colby grinned. "That's what the vest is for, kid. Doc has to see the x-rays, but I'm betting broken rib. Maybe a couple." He lifted a hand to the back of his head. "Don't even have a concussion from meeting the asphalt. Hell of a headache, though."

Charlie wished he could reach out his hand, but it wouldn't obey him. "What happened? I…didn't hear it all…"

Colby shrugged, and grimaced a little. "More of your chaos theory. We were just doing witness interviews. There was a drive-by earlier, and it may be another in a gang situation LAPD called us in on. Anyway, we thought the guy in the truck was just another witness. Turns out he didn't even know what happened. It was all over by the time he blew a tire and pulled over — in the middle of his get-away. He had just robbed a convenience store five miles away, and he thought we were there for him."

Charlie blinked the moisture back. "God. It was so…it was so…" His eyes threatened to fill, again. "Are you sure you're all right? David said there was blood."

Colby lifted his hand off the edge of the gurney. He looked momentarily confused. "Blood?" A light went off and his face cleared. "Oh, oh, right. On impact, my arms flew back -- I hit myself in the mouth with my own weapon, bit my tongue and knocked loose a tooth. Must've bled like a sumbitch. Gotta go to the dentist when I get out of here so he can finish pulling it, or something...anyway. How's everybody here? And what happened to you?"

Colby frowned when Charlie suddenly looked away from him, to the ceiling, and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," said Charlie dejectedly. "I tried, I really did…" He opened his eyes, but continued to stare at the ceiling. "I know you were right this morning, it's not about me right now — but everything is wrong. Don wouldn't wake up, and Dad thinks I'm a dog, and Larry has pneumonia, and you were shot, and- and- I don't know what to do. I can't fix it."

Colby stared at him for a moment. "What happened to your wrist?"

Charlie closed his eyes again. "It's bright out here," he observed tiredly.

Colby suddenly zeroed in on the fact that Charlie wasn't sitting up at all. Maybe something had happened to his head, too. He hurried to make his point so they could get back to taking care of him. "Hey, Charlie, listen. You don't have to fix everything — nobody can. All you have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other, okay?"

Charlie was starting to question his grip on reality almost as much as everyone else was. When his mother had died, he thought he saw her everywhere for months. He turned his head again and looked at Colby — both sadly, and hopefully. "Are you real?" he questioned, and Colby used his FBI voice again to call back the techs.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The ER physician eventually cleared Charlie's head CT, deciding that stress and lack of nutritional input were responsible for his symptoms. He had the cafeteria send up Ensure, of all things, and personally supervised Charlie's consumption of it before he sent him up to ortho for a cast of the simple fracture of his wrist. "You may be waiting a little while," he noted, and handed Charlie a wrapped turkey sandwich that had come up with the Ensure. "Eat this while you're waiting." Seated in a wheelchair again, Charlie looked at the oblong packet, then up to the doctor. "Look, this is an order," the man began, seeing a protest in Charlie's face. "Consider it a prescription."

Charlie wondered briefly why he thought that would make a difference. He had received some Tylenol, and his headache had abated somewhat, but hovered around the edges of his brain gathering strength for a second assault. "I'm just not sure I can do that with one hand," he muttered.

"The orderly I will be sending with you will stay with you," the doctor said, all-business and looking at the orderly and not Charlie. "He can help. And he **will not** hand you your release papers until you hand him an empty sandwich wrapper."

Charlie had long ago sent a concerned Megan up to Larry, and David off with Colby, who was being admitted for observation. He remembered Colby's advice and paraphrased it. One bite at a time.

All told, it was dinnertime for the patients in the hospital when Charlie finally negotiated his way around carts of food trays, back to Don's room. Time for evening rounds for Dr. Charles Eppes, he thought wryly, as he pushed open the door – and stopped dead when he saw the housekeeper sanitizing the bed Don should be lying in.

Charlie only knew of one reason for the bed to be empty and sanitization to be in progress – the patient was gone. And there were only two places the patient could reasonably go: Home, or the morgue. Those thoughts shot through his brain as rapidly as fornicating bunnies, and within seconds Charlie veered to the bathroom near the door to the corridor and decorated it thoroughly with his turkey sandwich. The toilet seat, unfortunately, had been down.

After the Ensure was also disposed of, Charlie reeled to the sink and looked in the mirror. This couldn't be happening. After all this, after everything, he couldn't lose one of them. He couldn't function for everybody else, without Don. His knees buckled and he slid down to the floor, narrowly missing a puddle of Ensure. He hung his head to his chest and a great, shuddering cry escaped him.

"Oh, my. Are you all right, Mr. Eppes? The housekeeper came to get me…"

Charlie looked up, crying, and recognized one of Don's nurses. "When?" he gasped. "How?"

She looked concerned as she leaned over him and felt his forehead. "No fever… 'when' and 'how' what?"

Charlie hung his head again. "How am I…" His voice hitched. "…I going to tell Dad? My God, Donnie…"

Hands firmly grasped the sides of his face and tilted his head up. The nurse looked directly into his eyes. "No, no, no, no, no. Your brother is fine. He's fine. We moved him to another room."

Charlie threw his casted arm up so fast she had to duck a little to avoid being hit. His fingertips dug into her arm. "What? What?"

She repeated herself. "Don's fine. He's just down the hall in a double room. It was Agent Granger's idea. He's there for observation tonight, and hopefully tomorrow we can move your father up here, and you can quit running back and forth between them."

Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe. He felt it when the nurse let got of his face, and heard her straighten up. He kept breathing. Don was fine. Don was alive. When Charlie thought he could stand again, he opened his eyes, and gazed at the destruction around him. "Sorry…"

The nurse smiled. "I'd tell you not to worry about it, but Anna had already sanitized the bathroom. She may be a little put out by this."

"I really am sorry," Charlie said, sounding guilty, and she reached out a hand to help him up.

"I'm just kidding," she assured him. "Anna will be fine." Charlie stood shakily, with her help, and leaned against the counter for a moment. The housekeeper in question passed by the open bathroom door, peered in with an obvious expression of disapproval, and the nurse lowered her voice to whisper to Charlie. "By the way – you got any plans for your firstborn son?"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Five minutes later, Charlie sat in a chair between Don's and Colby's beds, one leg crossed over the other, neon green cast resting on his knee. Don was awake, although his eyes were closed most of the time, listening to Colby describe the shooting in the field. David had gone to the cafeteria to get Colby a sandwich – he refused to eat the food on the tray – and Megan was still with Larry. When he was finished, Don turned his head slowly to look at him, and spied Charlie instead. "Where's your sling?", he asked.

"I need at least one hand to push the buttons on the elevator," Charlie answered, and Don seemed to see the cast for the first time. He was still foggy.

"Wait. That's new…isn't it?"

Charlie nodded.

"You broke your arm?"

"Wrist," Charlie supplied. Colby listened with interest. He never had heard how that happened.

"When?", Don wondered. "How?" It was an eerie repetition of the questions Charlie himself had been asking just a few minutes earlier.

"This afternoon. I…fell."

"Here? At the hospital?" Don closed his eyes again. "Sue."

Charlie sighed, embarrassed now. "It wasn't their fault. I may have passed out."

"Hmmm?" Don was getting sleepy, but he wanted details and forced his eyes open. "You sick?"

Charlie looked at his knee. "No. I- When you went for your MRI, I got scared, and I turned on the television to distract myself. I saw Colby get shot. Some local station got footage from a tourist's video camera. As the announcer promised, it was 'dramatic footage'. I saw a shotgun come out of the truck window, I saw Colby fly backwards out of camera range – and the next thing I saw was Dr. Headson, and you. You woke up in the middle of the MRI, and you were being a little difficult."

Colby was touched. "You passed out for me? Thanks, kid, nobody's ever done that before. I wonder if I can get my hands on that footage."

Don tried to summon the facial muscles required to glare at him. "It's not funny, Colby. You could have been killed. When I get back the entire team is taking a refresher course on self-defense. If we can't get Merrick to send us to Quantico, we'll set something up at the LAPD police academy."

Colby wiped the smile off his face. "I know, boss, I know. Believe me…" His voice became serious, even grave. "I know." He looked at Charlie. "So you must have tried to stop yourself with your hand," he prompted.

"I guess," Charlie shrugged. "That's what everybody is guessing, anyway."

Don shifted in the bed and Charlie looked up to see his eyes open wider and more clearly than they had yet. "That it? Did they check you out good?"

Charlie smiled. "Oh yeah. I got to the ER while Colby was still there. Agents all over. I was talking to David and Megan, and somebody ran into me…anyway, I passed out again, in the ER. You were unconscious last night, but it was the same doctor who admitted you. He put me through a head CT and everything." He held up his cast. "This is it."

David came back into the room then. He crossed to Colby's bed and put a familiar oblong packet on the rolling table. "Turkey," he said, and Charlie's stomach rolled. He didn't want to see turkey again anytime soon.

He stood. "I'll go check on Dad," he said, and was surprised to see Don pale. "Are you all right?", he asked anxiously.

Don looked at him. "Check on Dad? What does that mean? Is he okay?" He suddenly made a connection he should have made a long time ago -- he hadn't seen his father all day.

Charlie hesitated. Of course Don didn't remember the phone call, he should have anticipated that. Not really any way out now, though, short of out-and-out lying – and Don could always tell when he was lying. "He's got septicemcia," he finally said. "He was admitted last night, too."

Don looked like he was going to try and get up. "Blood poisoning! How did he – help me up, I'm going to see him!"

Charlie easily restrained him with one injured arm. "Not tonight, Don. I'll take you tomorrow, okay?" Don continued to struggle, and David casually wandered closer to his bed.

"Don! Stop struggling, you can't get up tonight. I'll tell Dad you asked after him…" Charlie gave up on diplomacy, reaching the end of his rope a lot quicker than usual. "Look, if you don't stop I'll have the nurse sedate you. Not that it's necessary. Right now I think Larry's 4-year-old niece could take you."

The mention of Larry seemed to make Don think of something, and he suddenly reached up and touched Charlie's fingers below the cast. "Let me get this straight," he said tiredly, "I'm still a little slow…"

"What?"

"Larry has pneumonia and has been here since yesterday morning. I'm here. Dad's here. You saw Colby get shot and you broke your wrist. Does that cover it?"

Charlie started to nod, then stopped himself. "Yes. No. Wait. I also threw up all over your old bathroom when I found the room empty and thought you had died."

He'd been trying to make a joke, but Don's eyes went tender and he rubbed Charlie's fingers. "You okay, Buddy? How have you been coping with this all day?"

At his brother's gentle tone Charlie felt himself swing toward the edge again. He also felt eyes boring into his back, and he turned his head to meet Colby's gaze. Colby was smiling at him, and Charlie reeled himself back in by the time he rotated back to Don. He smiled at his brother, deeply, genuinely. "I'm okay, Donnie. I'm good. All it takes is one foot after the other."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Charlie slowly approached his father's hospital bed. He looked, if anything, worse than he had this morning. His breathing was harsher. It was obvious from his flush that he continued to have a fever, but he wasn't restless and moaning, any more. The alternative – the stillness – turned out to be worse..

As silently as possible Charlie arranged a chair on the side of the bed so that he could sit in it and rest his good arm – which had been his bad arm, just this morning – on the mattress beside his father's. Then he scooted the chair back a little, so that he could take his father's limp hand in his. He held it tightly, no longer afraid that he would wake him. He held it tightly, and remembered all the times he ever had. When he was young, his father's hand had been a comfort and a strength – it had signified safety. His father's hand had led him across dangerous streets. His father's hand had bandaged Charlie's skinned knees. Throughout Charlie's life – even now – the brief touch of his father's hand could make him feel…valued, loved. He held it now tightly, and tried to make his hand send the same message to Alan.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Charlie." The voice was soft, and somewhat annoying in his ear, like a mosquito that wouldn't go away. It droned a little closer, instead. "Charlie. Wake up…"

He tried to turn away from it, and his head slipped off the side of the chair, and banged into the rail of Alan's hospital bed. He jerked his arm up in reflex, dropping Alan's hand. His shoulder protested mightily, and he swore when his forearm became trapped on the other side of the rail.

He heard a light chuckle behind him. "Well, that oughta wake him up."

He extricated his arm, raised it to rub at the bruises he had clonked on the bedrail, and turned to see Megan behind him. "Ow," he mumbled.

She smiled and looked past him at Alan, the smile fading. "No better?"

Charlie followed her gaze. "No."

She tried to force a positive tone into his voice. "He'll be improved enough tomorrow to move into Don's room by the time they release Colby." Charlie didn't say anything. She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. "I came to give you a ride home. I'll bring you back in the morning."

He shook his head, still looking at Alan. "I still have to go see Larry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

She snickered. "Well you did a good job of it. It's almost 10 o'clock. Visiting hours were over a long time ago. I got kicked out of Larry's room and hid out in Don's for a while, but they just kicked me out of there, too."

Charlie stood up a little too quickly and staggered a little as he turned around. "What? I came down here at 7!"

Megan stepped around the chair and reached out to steady him. "It's okay. You were where you were needed the most."

He still looked unhappy. "How's Larry?"

"Sleeping. A lot. At least the fever has stopped increasing. It's been holding steady for about five hours." She tried to steer him toward the door. "Come on. Everybody will be better in the morning."

Charlie took one last look at his father, and then, although he knew it was dangerous to hope, he let himself believe her, and be led to the door.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan was moved the next day, but not to Don's room.

Charlie was awakened at 6 a.m. by his cell. It was the hospital, and a nurse informed him that Alan's blood pressure was dangerously low, and his kidneys and liver were not functioning at full capacity. He was being transferred to the ICU, now officially in septic shock.

Charlie sat up in his bed, clutching the phone and breathing rapidly for a few seconds before he decided he wasn't waiting for Megan. He was showered, dressed and in a cab before 6:30. He called her from the back seat to give her the news.

Once at the hospital, Charlie was informed that one family member could see Alan for 10 minutes each hour. Throughout the day, he spent his time with Alan and then alternated the balance of the hours with either Don or Larry. Three times he gave up the time to Don; once in the morning, another time in the afternoon, and a third time in the evening.

During Charlie's visits, Alan was occasionally awake. When he was, he was confused, short of breath, sometimes agitated. During the 2 o'clock visit, he watched Charlie come in the room and shouted, "What are you doing here, you son of a bitch! I told you NEVER to come near my wife AGAIN!" He continued to rant, growing increasingly angry and agitated, until Charlie finally left early, stumbled into the nearest men's room and sat on the floor hugging his knees and trembling until it was almost time for the 3 o'clock visit. A few minutes before, he went to Don's room and offered it to him.

Between ICU visits, Charlie tried to concentrate on other hospital news. Colby had been released that morning as planned, and was expected back on full field duty in only three weeks. Don, when he wasn't sleeping, was alert and showing no signs of complications. A late-morning CT scan was again clear of any brain swelling or bleeders, and Dr. Headson was talking about releasing him the next day, or the day after. Full recovery would take weeks of rest, of course, but both Don and Charlie looked forward to his being able to do it at home. Finally, Larry's temperature began to drop. By afternoon, his oxygen supplementation needs were reduced enough that they were able to replace the mask with a canula, and he was much more comfortable. He would likely be in the hospital several more days, and was due for his own long recovery after that.

Charlie wheeled Don to ICU for the 6 o'clock visit, and they arrived as Dr. Stevenson was exiting Alan's room. He invited them to a family waiting area, and Charlie was suddenly glad he had Don's wheelchair to hang onto. Don, on the other hand, was glad he was sitting down already.

Once in the waiting area, Dr. Stevenson was brief and to the point. He didn't even sit down, so neither did Charlie. He just stood behind Don and gripped the wheelchair handles harder. "Your father's kidneys have begun to fail. If we can't turn that around in the next few hours, we'll have to begin dialysis."

Don spoke. "Will there be permanent damage? I mean, after he comes out of this septic shock, will dialysis have to be continued?"

The doctor looked at Charlie and then down at Don. "Perhaps. There's no way to tell, right now. If your father recovers from this, he may have permanent damage to several organs: brain, heart, liver, kidneys…"

Don bristled. "_If_? _If_ he recovers?"

"I assumed your brother had passed on the information I gave him regarding the mortality rate of septic shock."

"My brother is always talking numbers," Don said, as if to dismiss the statistics, and then he remembered that when Charlie talked numbers, he usually knew what he was talking about. Always, in fact. Don still had a headache – for two days, now – and he crained his head carefully up to look at Charlie.

His brother smiled down at him. "Come on, Don. This is Dad we're talking about. What do these people know from Dad?"

Don relaxed a little. Charlie had been able to spend a lot more time with Alan that he had. Charlie was not especially given to blind optimism, either. If Charlie said it would be all right, Don was going to go along with it. "Take me inside," he said, dismissing Dr. Stevenson, speaking to his brother. "It's my turn."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

After Charlie said good-night to Don around 9, he headed back to the ICU. He knew he should go home and get the house ready to possibly bring Don home the next day, but he wanted to be close to his father. He wished they would let him sleep in Alan's room. He wouldn't disturb him. He just wanted to listen to him breathe.

At midnight, they insisted this was his last visit for the night. They were hooking Alan up to dialysis as soon as Charlie left this time anyway. Alan stirred while Charlie sat beside his bed, and he reached out to touch his hand. "Hey, Dad," he said softly, and his father opened his eyes. He blinked wearily several times, and it seemed to take a great effort. It looked like he was preparing to speak, and Charlie waited to see who he would be this time, in Alan's world.

"How's your brother?", Alan whispered.

Charlie straightened, not quite ready to believe Alan was referring to recent events. "He's doing well," he finally offered.

One corner of Alan's mouth turned up. "I knew he'd be all right. Hard head."

Charlie smiled so brightly the room lit up. This was Dad, talking about now. "You will be too," he assured him.

Charlie was sure he saw a nearly imperceptible nod of Alan's head. His father closed his eyes. "You're both good sons. Been blessed."

Charlie's brand new relief started to sour. "Dad…just rest now. You'll have plenty of time to tell us how wonderful we are later."

"Won't want to, then. Have my senses back."

Charlie's relief flooded back in. "I'll remind you," he promised, and Alan opened his eyes again. They crinkled in a smile, although only one corner of his mouth moved up again.

The door opened and a nurse came in to make Charlie leave. He almost backhanded her with his cast. Couldn't she see that Dad was back? They had just started talking!

"He needs his rest," she said quietly.

"So do you," Alan said to him. "Look like crap."

Charlie smiled again.

"That's better," Alan said.

Charlie stood to leave, leaned over and kissed his father's forehead. "We'll see you in the morning, Dad. I'll bring Donnie."

With tremendous effort, Alan managed to lift his hand high enough to barely touch Charlie's longest curls. "Good. Miss him."

Charlie kissed his forehead again. "One from the Donster," he said, and straightened up to smile at Alan again before he left.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie slept hard between 1 and 5 a.m., and had difficulty coming awake when he heard his cell ringing. Groggily, he answered. "Yeah?"

He snapped to full consciousness when the nurse identified herself, and by the time she said "cardiac arrest", he was sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"As you know," she continued gently, "your father had a medical directive on file at this hospital…"

Charlie started screaming, then. "_HAD_? My father _HAD_?"

She continued. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Eppes. The directive was just updated a few months ago, and your father did not wish to be resuscitated under these circumstances."

Charlie could barely hear over the rush of blood in his ears. "Circumstances? What circumstances?"

"In the event of multiple organ failure, Dr. Eppes."

Charlie was rocking on the edge of the bed and didn't even realize it. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God," he chanted, thinking of his midnight conversation with Alan. "What are you saying? I didn't even tell him I love him!"

She was infinitely tender, infinitely gentle.

"Dr. Eppes, I am sorry. The doctor pronounced your father deceased 17 minutes ago."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Around 4:45 in the morning, Don started awake, more alert than he had been — well, in years. Something moved in the shadows near his bed, and he turned toward the movement with an odd lack of apprehension. "How are you, son?"

Don recognized his father's voice and smiled. Charlie had been right. These people didn't know anything about Alan. "Dad! I'm so glad you're better!" There was more movement in the shadows, but Don still couldn't make out a face. 

"I'm very well, now, Donnie. You close your eyes again, and rest. Everything is all right now son. I'll stay until you fall asleep."

"Thanks, Dad," Don answered, and relieved, content...happy...he snuggled into the pillow, certain he could feel Alan's hand on his face for a moment -- or maybe it was a quick kiss. Don sighed, and drifted back to sleep.……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

FINIS, Part 1

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**A/N: Damn. Sorry about that – betcha didn't see that right hook coming. Frankly, neither did I. As things moved along, though, I decided to tie it in with another story already in progress. (Also, my mood darkened, somewhat – in case you didn't notice.) Anyway, be watching for:**

_**Fighting Chaos, Part II: Unfinished Business**_


End file.
